


Out of the Shadows

by misanthropiclycanthrope



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blind Character, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Touch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:08:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22962907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misanthropiclycanthrope/pseuds/misanthropiclycanthrope
Summary: It takes him a couple of minutes to work up to it, but he knows if he doesn’t ask now, he may not get another such opportune moment. There are enough regrets haunting his past that he’s vowed never to give himself reason for more.To his surprise, Paul wants to get to know Hardy a little better.
Relationships: Paul Coates & Alec Hardy, Paul Coates/Alec Hardy
Comments: 4
Kudos: 42





	Out of the Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> Written for something that wasn't exactly a prompt, but which prompted some feels regardless.

The silence that follows his question brings with it a pang of unexpected disappointment. Certain his offer is going to be declined, politely or otherwise, he can almost hear the frown that’s no doubt plastered across the face of the man on his doorstep. He doesn’t know why he’s so keen to prolong this encounter with the irascible police inspector, but something prompts him to keep talking, to fend off the inevitable _no_.

“I have Earl Grey, English Breakfast, a selection of herbal teas. Chamomile, peppermint…” he trails off, in danger of sounding _too_ eager. There’s a soft huff from Hardy, and if he didn’t know better he’d have said it was a chuckle.

“That’s a lot of tea.”

“I’m a vicar, always prepared for visitors.” There’s another short silence, and that strange, fluttering disappointment again. “You’re busy, of course…”

“No, no. Tea, uh. Aye, okay.”

Disappointment evaporating, Paul waves him inside, out of the chill, tells him he’s welcome to hang his coat in the hall. He can hear Hardy fussing about, awkward in another person’s space, before he follows him through to the kitchen.

“So, what’s it to be?”

“Peppermint. Please.” He’s still hovering somewhere near the doorway, out of place in a social setting as he never is when on the job, purpose clear. Paul doesn’t mention it, busying himself preparing the tea with well-practised ease.

There’s a clack of claws on parquet, heralding the arrival of Rory as he comes to investigate their visitor.

“Oh, hello.” Hardy’s burr is soft as he greets the dog, a smile in his voice.

Remembering his manners, Paul leaves the kettle to boil, drops his hand to find the lab’s furry head. “Forgive me. You two haven’t been formally introduced. DI Hardy, this is Rory, Rory, this is Alec.”

There’s a grumble at the use of his first name, but Paul refuses to call the man by his title and surname when he’s a guest in his house. Especially to a dog, who has no concept of such things.

“There are some treats in the third drawer there, give him one and he’ll love you forever.”

A moment’s hesitation, and then he hears Hardy rustling about in the drawer, followed almost instantly by sounds of happy munching.

“That’s him sorted, let’s take ours through to the living room.” It’s more comfortable, and maybe Hardy will even allow himself to relax a little. To his credit, Hardy doesn’t offer to carry the cups, but he does collect a couple of saucers at Paul’s request, for the teabags.

Paul takes his usual armchair, Hardy eventually settling at one end of the sofa. Rory follows them, plops himself down in his bed with a contented sigh, their visitor having obtained his seal of approval. Conversation doesn’t flow naturally for Hardy, not outside of the interrogation room, and it falls to Paul to carry them through some small talk. He hasn’t had many encounters with Hardy, no real reason to talk with the man after their initial, rather heated, first meeting. It was somewhat refreshing to discover that Hardy wasn’t going to immediately discount him from a murder investigation on the basis of his disability, if rather insulting that he’d thought him capable of something so atrocious at all. Nor had Paul appreciated having his past raked up, but he had to admit that the man was thorough, and that was a necessary quality in a detective inspector.

And now everything has settled down? It turns out Hardy maybe isn’t as bad as his reputation would suggest, if not exactly easy to get to know. Something in Paul was driving him to try, and he’d had a good deal of practice at getting people to lower their defences. It takes the best part of half an hour, but Hardy does eventually relax enough to open up a little, talking about his daughter mostly. With the tea finished, however, Paul knows that he’ll soon make his excuses.

It takes him a couple of minutes to work up to it, but he knows if he doesn’t ask now, he may not get another such opportune moment. There are enough regrets haunting his past that he’s vowed never to give himself reason for more.

“Alec…” A soft grunt lets him know he has Hardy’s attention. “I get the impression you’re not much of a fan of… physical touch, and you can say no if you’re not comfortable.” He can feel the confusion coming off the man in waves, hurries to explain, hands twisting together restlessly in his lap. “I like to have an idea of what someone looks like, so I can picture their face when I’m talking to them. But the only way I can do that is to… well.” He raises a hand, fingers outstretched, flexes them briefly before curling them into a fist and dropping it back to his lap. There’s only silence from Hardy, and he has never before wanted so badly to see the expression on someone’s face. Bottom lip caught between his teeth, he averts his own face self-consciously, ears heating up in a blush that must surely be visible. “Please don’t feel obligated to agree, it’s—”

“Okay.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s okay, you can…” Hardy sounds as awkward as Paul feels. “I don’t mind.”

“Oh. Okay. Right then.” Surprised at such ready agreement, Paul has to shake himself into action. He joins Hardy on the sofa, one hand extended to find his shoulder, to avoid accidentally plonking himself in his lap. He feels the cushions shift as Hardy turns toward him, one bony knee knocking against his own.

“Ready?” Paul asks, voice breathless in a way he hopes isn’t noticeable, and offers his hand to Hardy. It would be rude to just dive right in, risk maybe poking him in the eye. Long, slender fingers wrap loosely around his wrist, guide his hand gently up.

The first thing he feels is the bristles along an angular jaw, pleasantly rough against his skin. He follows the stubble up to where it thickens beside his ear, skims across to find the edge of the orbital bone, then up over his eyebrow. Down into the dip at the bridge of his nose, and Paul can imagine the frown that must regularly reside there, but it’s smooth now and leads him to a well defined nose. Hardy tenses a little as he traces its slightly crooked length, but Paul only smiles, files the detail away in his memory.

“Okay?” he asks, voice quiet in the silence that’s fallen over them. He feels Hardy’s response, a nod beneath his fingertips, followed by an “aye” on a whisper. They’re both afraid of breaking the spell.

Raising his other hand, Paul follows the curve of each cheekbone simultaneously, back down to cheeks whose hollowness betrays the ill health Hardy is still recovering from, but the warmth in them speaks of vitality. There’s a twitch as he reaches the corner of his mouth and Paul pauses a second before running the pads of his first two fingers lightly over the swell of his lips. He hears a sharp intake of breath at such an intimate touch, put Hardy doesn’t pull away, remains still as Paul curls fingers around his bristly chin, thumb resting in the divot beneath his bottom lip.

Sweeping his hands back up, he finds the curved shells of Hardy’s ears, and then the soft mop of slightly dishevelled hair. He follows it up over the curve of his skull to where it flops down over one side of his forehead. Letting his left hand drop away, he leaves his right in place for a moment, resting against Hardy’s cheek, beard lightly tickling his palm. A quick brush of his thumb, a small thank you, and he takes his hand away.

He _knows_ he’s blushing now, presses his hands to his thighs to stop them fidgeting. “Thank you.”

Hardy clears his throat, grunts in a way that suggests he didn’t mind indulging him. “So what’s the verdict?”

He’s joking, gently cutting the strange tension that’s in danger of building between them, and Paul is grateful.

“You feel… very good looking,” he says, before he can check himself, and immediately the words leave his mouth he’s cringing, surprised at his own boldness. There’s an apology on his tongue, but it’s stayed by the sound of laughter.

Hardy’s laughing, and it’s a joyful sound.

“That’s quite possibly the strangest compliment I’ve ever received.” The smile in his voice is clear.

Too embarrassed to risk saying something even more stupid, Paul offers a bashful smile, a small shrug. Let Hardy read into it whatever his well-honed instincts tell him it might mean. Paul himself isn’t entirely certain.

Suddenly, Hardy stands, feet shuffling on the carpet. “I, uh, should be getting back.”

Paul’s heart sinks a little; he’s not sure what he expected, but he hadn’t wanted a rapid retreat. “Of course, don’t let me keep you.”

He follows Hardy to the door, waits while he pulls his coat on, trying to think of something appropriate to say, but it’s Hardy who speaks first.

“Thank you for the tea. And…” There’s a rustle of clothing, and Paul senses Hardy is feeling just as awkward as he is. “And the company.”

“Any time.” It's a response that sounds automatic, meaningless, and as he hears the door click open he rushes to amend it. “I mean that. You’re welcome to visit whenever you like. I, uh, I enjoyed the company too. And I’ve got plenty more tea.”

Too much? He can’t tell. But Hardy pauses on the doorstep, and when he speaks Paul knows he’s turned back toward him. There’s a warmth in his voice that chases away the chill creeping in through the open door.

“Mebbe I’ll take you up on that.”

Paul doesn’t hold back the smile that breaks free, aware he probably looks like an idiot. He doesn’t much care. Just before the sound of Hardy’s footsteps start making their way down the path, there’s a touch to the sleeve of Paul’s jumper, fleeting but unmistakable, a brief squeeze from long fingers that Paul knows he’ll feel for the rest of the day.

**Author's Note:**

> In this AU, Paul obviously becomes good friends with Jocelyn. He helps her adapt to her failing sight, she helps him figure out his developing feelings for Hardy. Did I expect to write this? No. Did I think about it more than I thought I would? Absolutely.
> 
> The title is taken from 'Blinded by the Truth' by Laurence Fox.


End file.
